The Sunday Oregonian., June 03, 1917, SECTION FIVE, Page 5, Image 69

IIIE SUSDAY OREGOMAX, FOUIXASD. JUX12 3, 1917.
POETRY LOVERS REGISTER REQUESTS FOR FAVORITE VERSES
v
LL. BUSH, of Bay Center. Wash.,
requests a . reprint of some
verses In praise of the achieve
ments of the British navy, which were
printed, during the Queen's Jubilee. One
couplet contains the following:
""Long Buffering- were the sea kings;
they were not swift to kill.
But when the sands had fallen, they
waited no. man's will.
In one stanza the winds are repre
sented as whispering of the navy's
3eeds and the stanza closes with the
words. 'and up from Trafalgar."
C. W Tlnre-Aiin. nf Astoria, reauests
tine poem in which Is found the fof-
lowing: "All houses where men have
lived and died are haunted houses."
and also asks for the poem. "You
Kissed Me." i
Charles Coonev requests the old bal
lad poem In which the burden lines are
as follows: "Begin nothing until you
have well weighed the end."
Emma Wood, of wood burn, asks for
"Salem Witchcraft," which contains
the following lines: '
Old snd worn was Goodman David,
Racked with nain in everv limb:
Toung and fair was maiden Nelly,
sunshine of the world to him.
J. W. Driver, of St. Paul, asks for
fthe song. "Gone "Within the Gates
Ajar."
I Dream of All Things Free" Is re
quested by another reader. In It oc
cur the lines. "I follow some wild river
on which no sail may be; dark 'woods
jaround me shiver."
L' Another request Is for the poem that
fins thus: "Must I be a soldier's daugh
r? Does that mean I must not cry;
ust not weep, my darling father, as
. kiss you this good-bye."
"Come and sit by my side, my dar-
t'ng, come and lean your brown head
n my breast, while the angels of twl
ight around us are singing the flowers
o rest," are part of the words of an
ther song that la wanted by a reader.
"Somebody's: coming when the dew.
rops fall: somebody's coming for a
wlllght cell. ' is another song request
ed, and we are also asked for the reci
tation entitled "Boy Billie."
reauestAfi hv 'Mm. Ct. p TTaHett rt
fPortland.
Mrs. F. Krutslnger asks for the
erses "Brother Ben," in which the
words are found: "All night I prayed
for him, and God, poor Alice could not
Sleep."
Mrs. D. Hellman asks for the song
I Love Tou. Mollie. Darling."
"I Don't Want to Play in Tour
Yard," "Sweet Maggie May" and the
poem beginning "Home they brought
her warrior dead" are asked by one of
lour liberal contributors.
We note several requests for do ems
Rhat have already appeared on this
nage, as follows: "Casbianea." June 4,
91; "Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight."
lune is. 1916: "Two Litttle Girls in
Blue." April 1. 1917: "Charles Giteau. or
the Death of Garfield," August 20. 1916:
'The Polish Boy." August 27, 1916.
Jly Dream of the U. S. A." which Is
requested by another reader, is a pop-
nar song or recent publication and may
Ye secured at any music store.
Owing to the fact that many of the
contributions to the page of Memorial
iay poems could not be afforded room
Ipn the page last Sunday, we will run
ne ones which were left over as ran-
fdly as opportunity offers.
BRING GIFTS.
Arise, for the morning is dawnlnsr.
And peace hovers over the lnnH
ko more sound the drum and the bugle.
No more rings the word of com
mand. f"here is peace and a spirit of labor, .
Where fierce fell . the thick of the
fight.
TThere are tears, but the morning.. . Is
dawning, '
Dispelling the shadows 'of night.
ere are tears for the loved and the
fallen;
There are tears for the brave and
the true;
ere are tears for the young lives that
perished;
There are tears for the gray and the
blue.
t the years have united the many.
And the few are still waiting the
call.
at the names of the loved ones, our
fallen, .
Are treasured In cottage and hall.
Ithen gather ye lilies and roses,
1 To fttrew on the rrnvM nf tiH A mn i
Bring garlands of fair, creamy blos
soms;
Bring' clusters of purple and red;
Bring violets sweet in their perfume;
Bring clustering ferns and wood
mosses.
To lay o'er the gray and the blue.
bring songs that are sacred to heroes;
The songs of the heart, low. and
sweet; .
taring praises; bring tears If ye have
Vthem.
To fall on the flowers at your feet.
But remember, in bringing your offer
ing.
ThAt these are hvt rifts of vour love
pin remembrance of those, who are
fallen.
But .who live in the . Great Heart
above.
(who live "mid the flowers immortal.
, Safe, safe from earth s turmoil and
cares.
rrhen, chastened. Oh, bring with your
garlands
A love for the living, and prayers
iPrayerS for the great world about
you;
Prayers for the needy and sore;
Prayers for the souls who are waiting;
Prayers for the cnua at. your ooor.
rThen come with your roses and lilies;
WlX.fl aalBICS llliu V lliicin 1 V. V 1. .
;om with your blooms from the win
dow. Of the graves that lie 'mid the grasses
And bring all your prayers for the
living.
To draw them each day nearer God.
Contributor, Mrs. F. Krutsinger.
OCR RANKS ARE GETTING THIN.
Louis Eisenbels.
Comrades, our ranks are getting thin.
our numbers less ana less.
f
o you marvel mat a luiuus iwr
should utter its distressT
No wonder as we look along our thin
ning ranks today,
k)ur silent tears should speak the words
our Hps refuse to say.
As each Memorial day recurs and the
muster-roll Is read.
There steals along our shattered ranks
weird whispers of the aeaa;
e miss their genial faces, boys, yet
still on memory's scroll
hey live. aye. shall forever live, en
graven on the soul.
he warm grasp of each friendly hand.
now cold in Icy death.
Has left behind a magic spell throbbing
with living breath,
bough hushed the voice, though stilled
the heart by death's relentless
thrust.
'The luster of heroic deeds survives the
crumbling dust.
A name is called; there's no response to
greet the listening ear;
iNTo voice is heard, but a solemn hush
proclaims the sad "Not here:
A soldier of the Union Guard, undaunt
' ed in the strife.
He stood beneath the Union stars and
Nobly he served the allotted time, a
hero, brave and true;
At last he lays his armor down beneath
the starry blue.
E'en so my comrades, one by one, their
faces disappear;
One by one, they step aside; we bear
them to the rear;
We lay upon their coffined forms the
flag they loved so well.
And sadly march with muffled drum
and dirge of funeral knell;
We stand around the open grave with
saddened hearts-and mute.
And waft a soldier's. last "farewell," a
requiem salute.'
And thus our ranks are growing thin;
why, we almost half incline
To think some unseen foe has charged
upon our shattered line.
Tis true we hear no cannon's roar; we
see no glittering steel;
And yet how silently they fall, as
though on battlefield.
Time plants his batteries high and low
to sweep the embattled plain.
And points his noiseless, shotted guns
with strange, unerring aim.
Hark, how his balls go whistling by,
his bombs explode so nigh
Ah, boys, who'll be the next to fall?
Perchance 'tis you or L
Still we recall the bygone days, when
the trumpet blast of war
Echoed o'er the slumbering hills, shook
by the cannon's roar;
How, with eager, hastening steps yon
were not the men to lag; -Tou
were steady, without faltering, to
protect the Nation's flag.
Tou were ready, life In hand, on your
country's altar laid.
Home and loved ones, fame and fortune,
"Country first." you nobly said.
Are you ready still to say, "Be It life or
be it death.
I'm for truth and right and union till
shall end my transient breath?"
Attention, comrades! Fall In quickly.
We are. yet in rank and file.
We are not discharged from duty just
on furlough for a while;
The bugle and the tapping drum, the
sword and bayonet.
The knapsack and the old canteen set
us ablaze e'en yet. .
On, on to Richmond, boys! Hurrah! Let
not a soldier lag.
Hark, do you hear the rebel guns? TJp
with the Union flag!
But halt! What's this? My limbs are
weak; pain strikes me here and
there;
My breath is short: my joints are stiff
comrades, bring me a chair.
Ah, yes; how. strange! I see it now. My
memory comes again.
I thought 'twas eighteen sixty-one, but
lo, 'tis years since then.
Z thought I was a boy again, as thirty
years ago;
But stiffened limbs and fading sight,
locks whitening as the snow.
All tell me we are growing o4d, and
soon must face about
And wait to hear the stern command.
"'Tis time to muster out!"
Then, comrades, are we ready for the
final grand review? .
Are you ready as In sixty-one you
saved the starry blue?
When the Great Commander's voice
shall announce the solemn halt.
When we stack our trusty muskets,
when we meet the last assault.
May we have, an honored entrance.
where the clang and din, of war
And the weary march and battle shall
deplete our ranks no more.
Then kindly ' strew sweet flowers of
Spring on the little grassy mound
Where sleeps the Union soldier in his
silent camping-ground.
Plant there the sweet forget-me-not.
, . kissed by the dewy dawn.
Shall breathe a living fragrance there
when we at last a,re gone,
Contributed by Ruth Luce.
V MEMORIAL DAY.
By Hattie Horner Louthan.
Comrade, from your dusty town
i have marched to bow me down
At thy side.
All about the grass is swirled
In thy quiet May-time world.
High, Old Glory flings unfurled
On the tide.
Didst thou hear the brave salute
Of thy comrades, wet-eyed, mute.
O'er thy. grave?
Didst thou hear the eulogy.
Thou defender of the free.
Thou who never thought to flee, .
Thou, the brave?
Didst thou hear that story,- sweet.
Of the victory from defeat
Of thy part?
The reveille sang its song.
Ah, how stirring, sweet and strong
Still it sounds with echoes long.
In my heart.
Canst thou feel my wreath at rest
On thy loving, loyal breast.
Lying low?
Canst thou feel my falling tear,;
As I kneel beside thee .here
Thou who heldest me so dear
Long ago?
Rest, brave comrade, in thy bed.
With our flag above thy head,
Peacefully.
Soon I'll Join thee, lifeless, mute; -Soon,
with drum and fife and flute
They will give us one salute
Thee and roe. -
Contributor, Ida May Johnston, of
Huntington, Or.
. THEN.
By Marion Manvllle.
I only see the stars are set
In golden order in the sky.
As if the sunshine lingered yet
Within each spark and would not die.
I only hear the winds go on .
Their unseen courses through, the air.
And cold, or balmy, still blow on,
Mysterious and everywhere.
I only feel when absent sound
Reveals the silence of the earth.
Whose noiseless motion, round and
round.
Has never faltered since Its birth.
I only hope when life is spent.
And death redeems its dust again.
There was a greater token meant:
More power goes on than can remain
I see. and hear, and feel, and hope.
Yet only know my faith is trust;
The vine climbs ever up the slope.
And human longings surely must.
But when the bond of earth and sky
Have in eternal union met.
We shall find out the how. and why.
Of mysteries unraveled yet.
L. A. Wilkle. contributor.
BEAUTIFUL ISLE OF THE SEA.
Beautiful isle of the sea
Smile on the brow of the waters.
Dear are your mem'ries to me.
Sweet as the songs of your daugh
ters;
Over your mountains .and vales,
Down by each murmuring river.
Cheered by the flow'r loving gales.
Oh, could I wander forever.
Chorus
Land of .the true and the old.
Home ever dear unto me:
Fountain of pleasures untold,
'- Beautiful Isle of the sea!
Oft o'er your shell-girded shore
Evening has found me reclining.
Visions of youth dreaming o'er.
Down where the lighthouse was
shining:
Far from the gladness you gave.
Far from all joys worth possessing,
Still o'er the lonely waves' roar
Comes to the vanderer your blessing,
tsy J. -tw l nomas
as?
. w-
ml 71 I Cheers for the sailors that fought on the wave for it,
FAIRY WHISPERING.
- By Marlon Manvllle.
The trolls that delve In the heart of the
hill.
The sprites in the' water-wheel down
. by the mill.
The elves that dance by the great
round moon
And fays on the sunbeam's slant at
noon.
And all the wee, small fairy folk
That sleep in folded flowers.
Or float away on thistle downs
To Queen Nab's festive bowers.
Told me a secret, a wonderful tale.
That they had discoveretl down in the
vale. -The
Spring was coming and Summer,
too!
And this was the way the fairy s
knew.
The troll in the hill had heard the
sound
Ot the -grass roots talking- under
ground.
And the sprites at the water-wheel
there had seen -The
lichen and willow turning green.
An elf had seen a butterfly."
A fay a baby flower.
And all the fairy-folk had heard
The green things growing every
. hour.
And they knew by these signs that
fairys tell
That nature was feeling Spring's tender
spell, : . . - -
And so.-for-a fr olio, when all was still.
They flew, to the water-wheel down
by the mill.
L. A. Wilkle, contributor.
EASTER.
By Marion Manvllle.
Far in the East, where morning, like a
flower.
Grows on the hilltops, with the first
8pring green. - - '
And in the West, where evening plucks
the day.
Hour petaled like a rose, with stars
between.
Doth this fair Easter dawning shine.
And Easter eve. that thine and .mine
May keep the memory of a love
divine. - -
Far in the North, where but the pines
show green, -Like
ivy wreaths above the shroud of
earth.
And in the South, luxuriant in her
bloom.
Like nature -decked to keep a feast
of mirth.
' Where plains, or seas, or forests
roll.
Wherever dwells a human soul.
The Christ-truth resteth at its
.. goal.
And far and wide, from Calvary around
The world to Calvary returned, the
cross -"'""'.
Defines its shadows 'gainst Its light, '
As human life defines its gain and
loss: .
Nile lilies cluster round It there;
. But, sweetly fragrant everywhere,
' Life lifts the lilies of a prayer.
L. A. Wilkle, contributor.
MY CREED.
By Phebe Carjk
I hold that Christian grace abounds
Where charity is seen; but when
We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds
Of love to men.
I hold all else named piety
A selfish scheme, a vain pretense.
Where center Is not, can there be
Circumference?
This I moreover hold, and dare
Affirm, where'er my rhyme may go.
Whatever things be sweet or fair.
Love makes them so.
Whether it be the lullabies
That charm to rest the nestling bird.
Or that sweet confidence of sighs.
And blushes, made without a word.
Whether the dazzling and the flush
Of softly sumptuous garden, bowers.
Or, by some cabin door, a bush
Of ragged flowers.
"Tie not the wide phylactery.
Nor stubborn fast nor stated prayers.
That makes us saints; we judge the
tree
By what it bears.
And when a man can live apart from
works on theologic trust,
I know the blood about his heart
Is dry as dust.
L. A. Wilkle, contributor.
THE RETURNED BATTLE FLAGS.
Moses Owen.
Nothing but flags, but simple flags.
Tattered and torn, and hanging in
rags;
And we walk beneath them with care
less tread.
Nor think of the hosts of the mighty
dead
That have marched beneath them in
days gone by.
With a burning cheek and a kindling
eye,
And have bathed their folds with their
life's young tide.
Here comes the Flag.
Hail it! i
Who dares to drag
Or trail it? ,
Give it hurrahs,
Three for the star?
Three for the bars.
Uncover your head to it.
The soldiers who tread
Shout at the sight of It,
The justice and right of it.
The unsullied white of it,
The blue and the red of it,
And tyranny's dread of it !
Here comes the Flag!
Cheer it!
Valley and crag
Shall hear it.
Fathers shall bless it,
Children caress it,
All shall maintain it,
No one shall stain it.
S y uive it nurrans, - rvJVFrysiX
Cheers for the sailors that fought on the
Cheers for the soldiers that always were
Tears for the men that went down to the
Here comes the r lag!
And dying, blessed them, and blessing.
died.
Nothing but. flags: yet, methinks, at
night
They tell each other their tale of fight;
And dim specters come, and their thin
arms twine
Round each standard torn, as they
stand in line.
As the word Is given they charge,
they form.
And the dim hall rings" with the bat
tle's storm;
And once again, through smoke and
strife. .
These colors lead to a nation's life.
Nothing but flags: yet they're bathed
with tears:
They tell of triumphs, of hopes. of
fears, . ?
Of a mother's prayers, of a boy away.
Of a serpent crushed; of the coming
day.
Silent they speak, and the tear will
start
As they stand beneath them with throb
bing heart. ,
And think of those who are ne'er for
got - .
Their flags come horosi why come they
not? .
Nothing but flags; yet we hold our
breath. .
And gaze with awe at those types of
death:
Nothing but flags, yet the thought will
come.
The heart must pray, though the Hps
be dumb:
They' are sacred, pure, and we see no
stain
On those dear loved flags come home
again:
Baptized in blood, our purest, best.
Tattered and torn, they're now at rest.
W. H. James, contributor.
' DECORATION DAY.
Again with reverent hands we strew
Our heroe s graves witn iiowers 01
SDring:
How swift doth time's increasing flow
These hallowed days .around us
bring!
And as' we stand in silence near
Their sacred dust a gift we lay
Upon each lowly altar here
.That -shall not witn tne riowers
decay. . -
For grateful memory twines anew
Hfy nttrnar with the garlands fair.
Laid where long sleep the brave and
true.
Whose honored dust we shield with
care.
Contributed by Mrs. Delia Webber.
SUGGESTIONS TO CONTRIBU
TORS TO THE POETRY PAGE.
We are not able to reprint
poems requested which belong to
works that are protected by
copyright, such as Service, Kip--llng.
Riley and others.
Except in cases where there is "
exceptional timeliness, it is not
possible to reprint poems which
have appeared on this page al
ready within a period of a few
months.' . - . r
Copies that are sent in Illegi
bly written, written on both sides
of the pages- or written without
regard to the. correct ' poetic
form, or poems which are ob
viously incorrect'Cannot, be. han
dled on this page.
Neither can we continue to re
print songs that have been.popu-
lar in recent years, owing to the
vast number of genuinely old '
poems that must be handled. Up
to the time of the Spanish War
is about as far into the modern
as we will be able to come.
Unless request for the return
of clippings or manuscripts, with
an inclosure of postage or
stamped and addressed envelopes.
Is made, contributions will not
be returned after they are used.
Contributions are handled as
rapidly as possible, but owing to
the volume of manuscripts re
ceived it is frequently several
weeks before a poem sent in can
be reprinted. Effort Is made to
acknowledge all contributions.
Precedence in reprinting Is
given to copies of poems sent in
in response to requests printed
on this page.
In sending in manuscript, write
on one side only . of the paper,
leave a fair space at the begin
ning of the first page and. the
end of the last and indicate at the
end the name of the contributor
to whom it is to be credited..
We reserve the right to reject
without comment contributions
which are Inappropriate or of lit
tle value either from a sentimen
tal, historical or poetical stand
point. Note on the outside of the en
velope. "Old Poem Department."
L J3 i-1 I
i
wave for it,
brave for it,
grave for it,
Contributed by W. II. Games.
A SONNG FOR OUR FLAG.
By Margaret E. Sangster.
A bit of color against the blue:
Hues of the morning, blue for true.
And red for the kindling light of
name.
And white for a nation's stainless fame.
on. fling it forth to the winds afar.
With hope In Its every shining star;
l naer its roias wherever found
Thank God. we have freedom's holy
ground.
Don't you love it, as out it floats
From the school-house peak, and glad
young throats
Sing of the banner that aye shall be
Symbol of honor and victory?
Don't you thrill when the marching
feet
Of jubilant soldiers shake the street.
And the bugles shrill, and the trumpets
call.
And the red. white and blue Is over us
all'
Don't you pray, amid starting tears.
It may never be furled through age
long years? .
A song. for. our flag, our country's
boast.
That - gathers beneath it a mighty
host; -
Long may It wave o'er the goodly land
We hold in fee 'neath our Father's
hand.
For God and liberty evermore
May that banner stand from shore to
shore.
Never to those high meanings lost.
Never with alien standards crossed.
But always valiant and pure and true.
Our starry flag red. white and blue.
Contributor, W. H. Games.
COMRADES. HAVE YOTJ GOT THE
COUNTERSIGN?
The soldier boys, of '61 are going Into
camp.
And their fight will soon be over here
below.
The few that's left are marching on.
witn slow out steady tramp.
Only waiting for the bugle call to go.
Chorus:
Don't you see the comrades falling?
Don t you hear the bugle s warning?
And the Great Commander calling:
Tell me... comrades, have you got the
countersign?"
We have marched and fought together
. in. -the days that are paat and
gone:
When . our comrades fell around us
. . thick and fast;
Never faltered, never murmured, on the
picket post alone:
Never left the field of battle till the
last.
Grant and Sherman. Meade and Thom
as, with a host of others, true.
To that far-off camp of beauty all
have gone.
And there's Sheridan and Logan, and
our brave McPherson, too;
All have fallen into line r.round the
Throne. m
Come Into camp and don't be strag
gling; see the night is drawing
nigh;
. Hear the warning cry and turn you
right about!
Soon the Guards will all be stationed
and you'll hear the Captain cry:
"Let no man into the camp who Is
now out!"
When the day for "Grand Review" shall
coma upon the other side.
And we corr.o up to the angel picket
line.
Tell me. comi -des, are you ready for
to cross the silent tide?
Tell me truly, have you got the' coun
tersign? '
Contributor, Mrs. J. C. Woodworth,
Pendleton, Or.
THE STRIPES AND THE STARS.
By Edna Dean Proctor.
O Star-Spangled Banner: the flag of
. our pride!
Though trampled by traitors, and
baaely defied.
Fling out to the glad winds your red.
white and blue.
For the heart of the northland Is beat
ing for you!
And her strong arm is nerving, to strike
with a will.
Till the - foe and hla boastlnga are
humble and still!
Here's welcome to wounding and com
bat and scars.
And the glory of death for the Stripes
and the Stars!
From the prarle. O plowman, speed
boldly away
There's seed to be sown in God's fur
rows today;
Row landward, lone fisher! Stout wood
man, come home!
Let smith leave bis anvil and weaver
his loom;
And hamlet and city ring loud with
the cry:
"For God and our country we'll fight
till we die!"
Here's welcome to wounding and com
bat and scars
And the glory of death for the Stripes
and the Starsl
I
Invincible banner! the .flag of the
free
Now where are the feet that would fal-
'ter by thee?
Or the hands to be folded till triumph
is won.
Asd the eagle leoks proud, as of old.
to the sun?
Give tears for the parting a murmur
or prayer
Then forward: the fame of our stand
ard to share!
Here's welcome to wounding and cora-
- bat and scars.
And the glory of death for the Stripes
and the Stars!
O. God of our fathers! this banner
must shine
Where battle is hottest. In warfare
aivine:
The cannon has thundered, the bugle
has blown: -
We fear not the summons we fight
not alone!
O lead us till wide from the gulf to
the sea
The land shall be sacred to freedom
and thee!
With love for oppression, with bless
ings for scars-
One country, one banner the Stripes
ana tne stars:
Contributed bv Ethel L. Hunter:
taken from Edwards' Sixth Reader,
printed 1SS6-7.
THERE IS SOMETHING IN A FLAG.
There Is something In a flag, and in
a little burnished eagle.
That ! more than emblematic. It's
glorious, it s regal:
Tou may never live to feel it, you
may never be in danger.
Tou may never visit foreign lands and
play the role of stranger:
Tou may never In the Army check
the march of an invader.
Tou may never on the ocean cheer the
swarthy cannonader:
But if these should happen to you.
then, when age is on you pressing.
And your great big booby boy come to
ask your final blessing
Tou will tell him: "Son of mine, be
your station proud or frugal.
When your country calls her children
- and you hear the blare of bugle.
Don't you stop to think of Kansas, or
the quota of your county.
Don't you go to asking question, don't
you stop for pay or bounty:
But you volunteer at once, and you go
where orders take you.
And .obey them to the letter If they
make you or they break you;
Hunt that flag and then stay with it.
be your wealthy or plebeian;
Let the women sing the dirges, scrape
the lint and chant the paean.
Though the magazines and journals
teem with anti-war persuasion.
And the stay-at-homea and cowards
gladly take the like occasion.
Don't you ever dream of asking. "Is
the war a right or wrong one?
Tou are in It, and your duty is to rr.iike
the fight a strong one;
And you stay till it is over, be the
war a short or long one;
Make amends when war Is over: then
the power with you Is lying;
Then. If wrong, do ample Justice but
that flag, you keep it flying;
If that flag goes down to ruin, time
will then, without a warning.
Turn the dial back to midnight,, and
the world must wait till morning.''
Contributed by W..H. Games.
JENNIE LORN.
A tear was in the soldier's eye as on a
Summer morn.
He bid a last and fond farewell, to
weeping Jennie Lorn.
They strayed down by the meadow,
where mid rustling of the corn
He bid a last and fond farewell, to
weeping Jennie Lorn.'
Chorus.
Good-bye. Jennie, dear.
Do not weep for me.
For when this war is over.
Then I'll come back to thee.
The Summer sun had sunk to rest, the
corn is gathered now.
The red, red rose is withered, and the
leaf falls off the bough.
Though keen and cold the Winter's
blast across the moor Is borne
And why does not the soldier write, to
weeping Jenny Lorn?
At last - one day a weary step, ap
proached the cottage door.
A wounded soldier brought the news
her Edward was no more.
She spoke no word, she gave no sigh
but the robin on the thorn.
When Spring had come chirruped sad
ly o'er the grave of Jenny Lorn
CHORUS.
Good-ble. Jennie, dear.
Life's last scene Is o'er. .
Oh! may your heart be happy
Where war shall be no more.
Contrfbuted by Mrs. S. Armstrong, of
Vader, Wash.
I'M WITH YOTJ ONCE AGAIN.
By George Pope Morris.
rm with you once again, my friends,
No more my footsteps roam;
Where it began, my Journey ends.
Amid the scenes of home.
No other clime has skies so blue.
Or streams so broad and clear;
And where are hearts so warm and true
As those that meet me here?
Since last, with spirits wild and free.
I pressed my native strand.
I've wandered many miles at sea.
And many miles on land;
I've seen fair realms of the earth.
By rude commotion torn.
Which taught me how to prize the
worth
Of that where I was born.
In other countries when I heard
The language of my own.
How fondly each familiar word
Awoke an answering tone!
But when our woodland songs were
sung
Upon a foreign mart.
The vows that faltered on the tongue
With rapture filled the heart.
My native land! I turn to you.
With blessings and with prayer.
Where man is brave and woman true.
And free as mountain air.
Long may our flag in triumph wave
Against the world combined.
And friends a welcome foes a grave
Within our borders find.
SATISFIED WITH THY LIKENESS.
If I In thy llkenesa. O Lord, may awake.
And shine a pure image of thee:
Then I. shall be satisfied when I can
break
The fetters of flesh and be free.
I know this stained tablet must first
be washed white.
And there thy bright features be
drawn :
I know I must suffer the darkness
of night
To welcome the coming of dawn.
And oh, that blest morning already U
here.
The shadows of earth soon shall fade.
And soon in. thy likeness I'll with thee
appear.
In glory and beauty arrayed.
When on thine own Image in me thou
hast smiled.
Within thy blest mansion, and when
The arms of my Father encircled his
child.
O! I shall be satisfied then.
Contributed by Mary H. Robinson.
Aberdeen, Wash.
DROWNED.
BT MRS. HELEN A. MANVTLLE. -
Found in the river; I stop with 4
shiver
Of horror and dread;
Somebody's daughter, drawn up front
the water.
Pallid and dead.
Life's hot, restless fever not long sine
did leave her.
Her sins at the best
She remembers them not gives theni
Never a thought.
Now. let them rest.
With thousands to shame her, and none
to reclaim her.
What wonder despair
Led her down to the river? The kindly
answered her prayer.
For her sake who bore her, lay the
warm mantle o'er her.
Of pity and love.
Poor, erring creature! so fair, too, of
feature.
Storm-beaten dove.
O'er the dusky eyes splendor so dewy
- and tender, .
Death's curtain is drawn.
No one to kiss her; who is there to
miss her.
Now she is gone.
Lay a flower on her bosom, a poor
withered blossom.
Like her, now at rest.
For her white brow so chilly no rosa
bring or lily
The cypress is best.
The coffin's dark cover the fair face lay
over.
Hiding within
All that is human the while of the
woman.
Poor Magdalen.
So weak and so sinning, her deep shame
beginning.
Far back in the years;
Though ye know not, nor love her, drop
kindly above her
The tribute of tears.
Tears for a sinner, though too late to
win her
From death or from shame.
Now lay In the casket, for the Lamb's
sake I ask it.
With her. all the blame.
For the dear sake of Jesus, the Savion,
who sees us.
To error so prone.
So weak and so human, oh. blame not
the woman.
The woman alone.
Deceit 'twas that lured her, her fonij
heart assured her.
He spoke only truth.
Whose hand stole the blossom of peace?
from her bosom.
Far back in her youth,
Lay the grave's, grassy cover so kindly
above her.
Life's storv is read.
Somebody's daughter drawn up from th
water.
Pallid and dead.
-Contributed by L. A. Wilkle..
GARDEN WHERE THE P'RATIES
GROW.
Oh! were you ever In love, . boys, did
yoti ever feel the pain?
I'd rather be In jail, I would, than b
in love again.
The girl I loved was beautiful. I'd havej
you all to know.
But I met hor in the garden where the
. p'ratics grow.
Chorus.
She was Just the sort of a creature,
that Nature did intend. '
To walk right through tnis wide world,
without a Grecian bend.
Nor did she wear a chignon, I'd have
you all to know.
But I met her in the garden, where th
p'raties grow.
She was singing an old Irish -song
called "Gra Gal Machree."
Thinks I. oh. what a wife "he'd make,
for an Irish boy like me.
I was on important business, but I did?
not like to go.
And leave the girl, or the garden where
the p'raties grow.
Says I: "My lovely maiden. I hope you'll
pardon me,"
But she wasn't like some city girls.
that would say. "You're making
free."
She answered me right modestly, and
curtesied very low.
Saying. "You're welcome to the garden,
where the p'raties grow."
Says I. "My lovely maiden. I'm tired ot
single life.
And If you have no objection, I'll make
you my dear wife."
She said she'd ask her parents, and to
morrow she'd let me know.
If I'd meet her in the garden where)
the p'raties grow.
Her parents they consented; we now
have children three:
Two girls just like their mamma, and'
a boy that's the image of me.
And although I love them dearly, I'S
have you all to know.
I can't forget the garden where tha
p'raties grow.
Contributor, Mra. S. Armstrong, of
Vader, Wash.
"ETTIV THE FLAGS.
By James C. Purdy.
This ain't Joe Brown. It is? Why
Joe!
You're bent 'nd gray 'nd go so slow.
I thought 'twas some old man. flui
here
Forgot I'd been away ten year,
I had to come. Joe. had to come.
For one more thirtieth of May.
To see the boys "nd help 'em some
In keeping Decoration day.
But whar ye bound for thi stlme. Joe?
To see the flag? We'll both on's go
'Nnd mark the end o' the march that's
done
'Nnd call the roll o' the boys that's
gone.
Say. Joe, you 'n me have come so near
The still place where
They're camped, that we can . almost
hear
"Em answer theelr names from over
there!
Ther's Just ten graves. I r'member n
all
Ten men that answered detail call.
Five flags fur me 'nd five for you.
What's all the rest fur? Ten'll do!
'Nnd whar's the rest o' the boys today?
Ther' should be twelve on's, countin
you.
I hope they ain't took to stayin away 1
That ain't the way they uster do!
'Taln't right! They all had orter come
To mark the graves for 'Morlal day.
No matter if the work is pushin" some!
Why. Joe! You're cryin! What ails ye,
Joe
What's that! Good Lord! That can't be
so!
All dead but us? Why, Joe But thar,
That couldn't be outside o' war.
Did fall in battle. Yes' that's so!
'Nnd that's the. way we've got to go.
An' Joe, I'll bet
Not one o' them boys ever let
The colors outen his stght!
Well. Joe, we've got these flags to set.
Here's ten fur me 'nd ten you keep
Ther's two of us is wakin' yet.
To stand guard over them that sleep!
But which of us two. Joe. d'ye s'pose
Will set the flag fur the next that
goes?